


Won't That Be Divine

by Frywen



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Can be read as gen or romantic, Gen, Headaches & Migraines, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Jaskier | Dandelion Whump, M/M, Medicinal Drug Use, Platonic Cuddling, Sickfic, Suicidal Thoughts, Vomiting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-24
Updated: 2020-10-24
Packaged: 2021-03-09 07:29:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,957
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27179945
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Frywen/pseuds/Frywen
Summary: It hurts.Waking up doesn't make it better.It makes it worse.So much worse Jaskier hopes he could fall asleep again but when he tries the pain brings him back to wakefulness time after time again until the sun peeks through the trees and all Jaskier wants to do is bury himself under the blankets or perhaps underground. Anywhere where the light doesn't reach him.He doesn't want to deal with this.Not now.ORJaskier is having an extremely bad day.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia & Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 21
Kudos: 397
Collections: Whumptober





	Won't That Be Divine

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is 1000% self-indulgent. I have chronic migraine and the past couple of months have not been kind. Jaskier's feelings and experiences are a direct comparison of how I have felt and dealt with my own migraine, other people have different experiences and symptoms. All of the symptoms I have described are symptoms I have had or milder versions of them. 
> 
> The title is from 'She'll be mine' from Galavant, which is my migraine theme song. 
> 
> Thank you for betaing and tolerating my stupid unco-operative migraine brain [CatLovePower](https://archiveofourown.org/users/CatLovePower/pseuds/CatLovePower)
> 
> This fic is written for Whumptober2020 prompt:  
> No 26. IF YOU THOUGHT THE HEAD TRAUMA WAS BAD...  
> Migraine | ~~Concussion~~ | Blindness

It hurts.

Waking up doesn't make it better.

It makes it worse.

So much worse Jaskier hopes he could fall asleep again but when he tries the pain brings him back to wakefulness time after time again until the sun peeks through the trees and all Jaskier wants to do is bury himself under the blankets or perhaps underground. Anywhere where the light doesn't reach him.

He doesn't want to deal with this.

Not now.

Not ever again.

A bang echoes in the clearing. Jaskier knows it's not loud, realistically. Knowledge doesn't help the feeling of his head splitting in two, the noise tearing at his ears and despite his best efforts he whines in pain, trying to block his ears with his hands but it doesn't help, every sound feels like a hammer in his head, making everything worse and he wishes it would just stop, that everything would just stop.

But it won't, it won't stop, it only gets worse.

So.

Much.

Worse.

"Jaskier, get up. We're leaving." Geralt yanks the blanket off of him and the light is plain agony piercing through his skull, stabbing the back of his eyes.

"If you won't get up, I'll leave you here."

Jaskier opens his eyes to look at Geralt, who he assumes is somewhere next to him only he can't see.

He can't see, his vision swimming in bright looming lights and he can only hope he faces Geralt as he slurs, "Mm up..."

He has to take a break to try to collect his thoughts, to try to remember where they were going and why but there are absolutely no thoughts in his head despite the pain and the chorus of the toss a coin going on in loops and every time he thinks he remembers the thought escapes him, the sunlight burning his eyes and he would like to think he has never wanted to rip his eyes out of his head as badly as he wants at that moment but it would probably be a lie and his ears buzz from all the noise and his head feels like it's stuffed very full of very sharp wool... and Geralt is saying something he should have listened to and he makes an inquisitive hum.

A hand lands on his shoulder and it feels... bad.

"Amm... fine..."

Clothes... he should find his clothes and get dressed and get up and definitely not eat anything he doesn't want to throw up a moment later maybe not eat anything at all and he can probably walk his eyes closed and... and... clothes...? He was definitely doing something with clothes and Roach whines and it's the worst sound Jaskier has ever heard, it rips his head in two and toss a coin to your witcher... witcher... getting up he was getting up and leaving.

"Jaskier, what's wrong?"

"Nnthing... gtting up..."

Of sore feet, tiredness, getting a splinter he can complain about but this? Never this. This is something he can never complain about, nobody will believe him. Everyone will think he's a burden, will think he's making this up, will just scoff at him and tell him to suck it up like a normal person, a headache won't make anyone incapacitated, won't make them want to stab their own eyes out. It's nothing, he can get up and survive this day, the next few days and after that, it should get better, has to get better.

A hand on his cheek turns his head and he forces his eyes open to look at Geralt because it has to be Geralt there's no one else here but he sees nothing but blinding light and he forces himself to smile hoping it'll be something else but a pained grimace but he can't see, he can't see if Geralt buys it, he can't see where his clothes are he can't see where they are and he... can't... see...

"Jaskier, talk to me. What's wrong? What can I do?"

"Ssst nnnd..." Words elude him, it's like he doesn't even know how to speak, how to think everything is just blank except for toss a coin to your witcher oh valley of plenty...

"What do you need, Jaskier?" Geralt's voice is low, soft and it's not grating the inside of Jaskier's skull as badly as before but still, it's bad and Jaskier is pretty sure he whimpers.

"...I'm..." he needs to make Geralt believe he's okay, he needs to pretend everything is fine, he just.

Needs.

To.

Get.

Up.

Gentle hands help him in his doublet and pants and he has no energy to resist, not even when he's lifted on Roach's back, his left arm too numb to help in any way.

"...mmm no... mm fine..." Jaskier doesn't even know how long they have been moving, he's not even sure if he's been conscious the whole time, all he can think about is the pain and the nausea and the pain and he's lying against Roach's neck and he knows she's walking slow, steady, like she does when Geralt is injured but it hurts so much, the pain stabbing his eyes on every heartbeat, throbbing in his skull like a too-tight metal band tightening on every step Roach's takes and despite that, despite the nausea churning his stomach he opens his eyes.

The blazing light makes his eyes water but he blinks hard, trying to find Geralt. He has to convince him everything is fine, it's just a headache, nothing he can't handle but it isn't, it's so much worse like the back of his eyes were lit on fire and he's burning alive.

"...mm fine... lemme down..."

"Shut up, Jaskier."

That is for once an order he can follow. He doesn't want to talk. But opening his eyes made everything worse and despite not eating anything since last night he has the sudden urge to gag, the nausea turning his insides worse than before.

"... gonna throw up..." he mumbles, closing his eyes.

"Don't be so dramatic."

"Mmm serious... feel... bad..."

"Shit."

He's dragged from the saddle and he manages barely two steps before he falls to his knees and throws up what feels like everything he has ever eaten and even after he has nothing left in his stomach he spits up bile.

Jaskier is pretty sure the only reason he's still kneeling is the witcher holding him up, otherwise, he'd be face-first on the ground. He's leaning his whole weight against Geralt, unashamedly trusting him not to let him fall.

He feels... better. Not good, but marginally better now that his most pressing issue is only the headache trying to split his head in two and not the nausea on top of it. The pain pounds at the inside of his head on every heartbeat making his knees weak and all he wants to do is lie down and die because that would be better than this.

"What can I do, Jaskier?"

"...jsst knock me out and carry me like a sack of turnips..."

"Be serious for once in your life."

"Am serious... just... just knock me out... leave me here... would feel better..."

Jaskier is laid on the ground and having something steady under his head feels heavenly.

"Jaskier, talk to me."

Jaskier opens his eyes and blessedly he can see. The light still hurts his eyes like daggers right to his brain but he can see Geralt sitting in front of him and that's something.

"I'm fine..." He puts an arm over his eyes, the darkness and pressure bringing a small comfort.

"I know you're lying."

"Oh well, excuse me for suffering from a condition called being a mere human being." He sounds more bitter, more angry than he intended. Even if he feels bitter and angry it's not Geralt's fault he feels awful, it's not Geralt's fault other people don't believe him when he tells them about this. "Sorry. Just... just gimme a moment..." he murmurs. In all honesty, he doesn't know if a moment will be enough. But it has to be, he just has to tough it through, all will be better in a couple of days and then he can laugh about this whole thing.

"Talk to me. Please?"

Geralt never asks anything nicely. Jaskier is almost shocked enough to look. Almost, not quite, the darkness feels so nice he doesn't want to compromise it.

"It's nothing, honestly."

Jaskier almost drifts off to sleep, only thing bringing him back to wakefulness, again and again, is the pain pounding behind his eyes and he groans, whines as he turns on his stomach, burying his face on the soft grass.

"We need to go." Geralt says, his hand a gentle reminder Jaskier's not alone. "Come on, I'll help you up on Roach."

Jaskier sits up and opens his mouth to protest even before he opens his eyes.

"Shut up, Jaskier," Geralt counters whatever Jaskier had been about to say. He's not even sure he knows _what_ he had been about to say.

Jaskier doesn't open his eyes. He lets Geralt help him up and slumps against Roach's neck, content on letting Geralt decide where they are going. Every step Roach makes scrapes the gravel under her hooves and it's like long needles poked at the back of his skull, into his eyes. He wishes he could gauge his eyes out with his bare hands. He settles just pressing on them. It hurts so much, it's impossible to think, he can't even remember where they were going. He just wants to sleep. Sleep and not wake up until this is over.

He would give anything to be back in Oxenfurt. Where it was ridiculously easy to get something to dull the sharpest edge of the pain, enough to sleep, to barely function, not just lie still and hope for the pain to end.

He thinks it's afternoon when they stop. He opens his eyes carefully to a blessed dimness of early evening and sees Geralt look up at him.

"You think you can get down on your own?" Geralt asks and Jaskier sits up as if the whole question is idiotic.

He can't even answer before he is falling to the ground.

Or straight to Geralt's waiting arms.

That works too.

Jaskier groans in pain as his head hits Geralt's shoulder, the impact making his head pound with a renewed vigour as if someone was hammering nails into his skull.

"Come on, I'll help you inside." Geralt guides him gently, arm around his waist. Jaskier has no idea where they are. But it doesn't matter, he trusts Geralt, he trusts Geralt not to take him anywhere dangerous.

He trusts Geralt to keep him safe.

A door creaks open and Geralt escorts him into a small clean house which smells like herbs and fire and food.

"Where are we?" Jaskier asks like an idiot. It's glaringly obvious where they are.

"A healer."

"...why?" Jaskier asks. Is Geralt injured? Did something happen when he was out of it?

"Just sit down and let the healer take care of you, you twit."

"Oh, I'm a twit? What are you then, a bloody muppet?" Jaskier complains but lets Geralt guide him to sit down by a table. He groans and lies his head against the hardwood, content in having something to lie against that isn't moving or smelling like a horse.

"What's wrong, love?"

Jaskier turns his head to lie it cheek down on the table. The healer seems like a gentle middle-aged woman, smiling down at him. He's seen the type. Sweet on the outside, pure murderous rage on the inside.

"I'm fine... jssst..." Words fail him yet again, every brain cell he owns refusing to cooperate. He closes his eyes and sighs. No use to deny anything now after this stupid thing made him a complete moron who doesn't even know how to speak, how to form words no matter how hard he tries.

"...Hurts..." he admits after his mouth starts to work again, "can't sleep... hurts too much..."

"Where does it hurt?"

"My..." Jaskier closes his eyes. Even if the light isn't as bright as it was before, it still hurts his eyes, combined with the overwhelming scent of herbs it's not helping. "My head... behind my left eye..."

"And how bad is the pain?"

"I'd rather be mauled by nekkers..." he groans. He can't help but hear the offended gasp Geralt makes and the ridiculousness of it makes him feel better and he almost manages a smile, "Why, Geralt, no need to be so offended on my behalf."

"Shut up, Jaskier."

"Has this happened before?" The healer continues, paying no attention to their exchange.

"Mmm yeah... several times..."

"Have you eaten anything today?"

"Mmm...no. Felt bad... threw up..."

"Well, that's not going to make you feel any better. Honestly, you young men need to learn to take better care of yourselves."

Jaskier can hear Geralt shift uncomfortably in place, guessing the healer gave him a more terrifying glare the witcher could ever muster.

"You! Help me with this! I need to feed the poor boy, otherwise, he'll never get better. Hurry up with it. No, not there."

Jaskier tunes out the conversation. He's too tired to listen. Too tired to be in pain.

Geralt will leave. He has done his duty and helped him to a healer and he has no reason to stay.

And he should leave. No use to drag around someone who will suddenly, without a reason, be out of commission for days.

It's fine.

It will be fine.

"Here you go, love. Eat up now." A bowl of... something is placed in front of Jaskier. He lifts his head slowly and peers into the bowl. It's some sort of stew. He manages to eat most of the food and drinks some foul-tasting potion before the healer guides him to lie down on a bed at the back of the cottage.

He barely manages to lie down and close his eyes when an overwhelming fear and anxiety wash over him, turning his stomach, making his head pound despite the healer fussing over him, covering him in blankets, making sure he's comfortable, that it's dark enough, quiet enough.

"Geralt?" he _whines_ , his own voice grating his ears. For the smallest of a moment, he thinks his fears have come true, the witcher has already left, without saying goodbye now that he knows what an _inconvenience_ , what a _whiner_ , what a _liar_ he is.

"What is it, Jaskier?" Geralt asks and Jaskier is sure he's never been more grateful to hear the low, quiet voice than he is now.

"Please, don't leave me..."

"It's the potion talking, you don't want to have me moping around."

"Geralt, please... I don't... I can't..." Jaskier isn't proud of the way his voice wavers, isn't proud of the way tears trickle down his cheeks without his permission, isn't proud of begging, desperate of not being left behind, desperate to get at least some comfort.

"I'm here." A hand touches Jaskier's hair and he leans into the touch, and it's only then he realises he trembles.

"Don't leave." Jaskier doesn't know what he wants to say, his brain refuses to cooperate, refuses to put his fears into words, refuses to tell even himself what he wants.

"What do you need, Jaskier?" Geralt sounds... soft. Concerned.

"Don't leave..." Jaskier cries harder, buries his face in his hands.

"I won't." Geralt sounds confused at the repeated request but Jaskier has no other words.

"Don't leave..." Jaskier whimpers and he feels the painkiller to start to pull him under and it only makes his panic worse. "Don't leave, don't leave, please...!"

"Jaskier... Jaskier I'm here. I won't leave."

The hand in his hair strokes his locks carefully, gently, like afraid he'll break, shatter into pieces.

"...Don't leave..." Jaskier whispers. He hears Geralt move and when the hand petting his hair recedes he feels like ice poured all over, the pain stabbing him worse than before and he knows crying makes it worse, makes everything worse, makes Geralt think he's weak and faking it but he can't help the sob torn from his throat and he curls up on his side, face still hidden in his hands. He doesn't want to see Geralt leave. He can't. He...

"Jaskier..." A hand is back in his hair, carding through his locks. Calming. "Make room."

Jaskier will deny the undignified questioning squeak came from him if anyone asks. But he dutifully scoots back on the bed until he hits the wall.

Strong clumsy arms collect him in a gentle embrace, his head pillowed on one arm, face tucked securely against a familiar chest. Geralt lays his hand against his neck, fingers drawing small slow circles, massaging the base of his skull.

"Is this okay?" Geralt asks, voice quiet, gentle. Worried.

"...mmmh..." Jaskier manages, words eluding him once again. "...You left..."

"Only to remove my armour and bring our bags inside. Rest now, I won't leave. I promise." Geralt assures him in the same quiet whispers he uses on Roach and if Jaskier wasn't still so scared, still in so much pain he might have mocked the witcher.

But now? Now he curls his fingers in Geralt's shirt and buries his face deeper into his chest as the fear and anxiety dribble out of him bit by bit at a time, in sync with Geralt's fingers massaging his neck.

"...Don't leave..." Jaskier mumbles. The potion keeps dragging him under, dulling the sharpest edge of the pain pounding behind his eyes but that's not what calms him. It's the safety of the familiar arms around him, the familiar scent in his nose and before he knows it he's asleep.


End file.
